It's Still Life

Winter Sunrise Climbing on a Warm Fragrance

I rise to the smell of coffee,
and pull back the curtains.

It’s a sight I’ve known since I was young,
that thin winter light of dawn’s sunrise.

                  Every day it improvises.
Mist muzzled into the forest roots.
Clouds with a rhythm of their own.

The sky filling with that warm
bruised colour, and night cursing
daylight for its treason.

But the apple tree remains a riddle –
a single fruit hanging from the end
of a bare stem. And with each sunrise,

I am reminded that I was born to fall
into little pieces and specks of dust,

like that apple, one day falling from
its stem to become someone’s memory.

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Written for Miz Quickly’s 16 December: Some People Are Good At Titles. Photo by János Patrik and  Toufic Mobarak on Unsplash. ©Misky 2021 Shared with #apoemaday on Twitter